The Academy (63 page)

“As for the rest of your life—I am not sending you out into the world to be a hustler, Mr. Parker. There will be no late night searching for easy sex, no sex for money. I’ve read your early interviews, and I disapprove of that sort of thing. No S/M play with strangers, and if you are desperate enough to feel like you need to be taken in hand, you will contact me and leave that up to my judgment. I do not want you to pursue any kind of romantic or physical relationship without my permission. Do I make myself clear?”

“Absolutely clear, Trainer,” he said softly. A touch of shame touched his cheeks. I walked around him, and ran my finger down his spine, feeling him shake and straighten up just a little more.

“If you want to visit your brother,” I said, feeling his body react in surprise, “don’t do it in a leather bar.”

Oh, it was so much fun to surprise him; watch the struggles he went through, trying to figure out whether he could or should say something, ask something. Janna had mentioned this, and so did Dalton, although from his perspective, it was a flaw. No, Dalton would never want to push someone across a desk and press them down while whispering questions into their ear, making them blush and stammer as you found out how excited they were by the process.

“How many other secrets do you think you’re hiding from me?” I asked as I pushed him down. He bent under me, alongside me, gasping; I had never been so close to him. At first, he didn’t understand what I wanted, and almost braced his arms—but as I pressed, he bent, and when his cheek hit my blotter, I plucked his glasses off his nose and put them aside as I leaned in.

“That was not a rhetorical question, Mr. Parker.”

“Yes, Trainer, I beg—I beg your pardon,” he gasped out. “But—I don’t know how to answer you, since—since it seems that you already know at least one, so I don’t know which other secrets you might be interested in.”

I almost drew back to laugh. In fact, the urge was so strong, I did smile, glad that from the angle I was holding him, he couldn’t see my face. I gave him a rough shake, my hand at the back of his neck, and listened as he let go the slightest of whimpers, his legs bracing.

“Impertinence is something you seem to have difficulty controlling,” I said, when I could count on my voice to be steady. “And I’m not interested in playing twenty questions with you today. But you will tell me everything, my...boy.” There was an appreciative shiver when I said that word, beautiful positive feedback from a slave who got off on precise wordplay. “You have a few years in which you will make me the world’s expert on Chris Parker. You’ll learn how to talk to me, how to tell me things, how to ask me things. And you will never forget how this feels, will you? To be handled like the piece of property you aspire to be. I wanted you to leave this house today absolutely sure that I will have a place for you when you get back. Do you understand where that place will be?”

“Under—under your hand, Ma’am,” he said, and I heard the inflection that would later grow to be one of his specialties and damn if I didn’t feel like keeping him exactly where he was and doing something very un-Anderson-like.

“Strip to the waist,” I said, barely hearing my own voice. As he obeyed me, his legs still pressed up against the desk, but his body raised only far enough to handle that task, I walked over to the glass case that held the few items in my house that could be qualified as my sex toys.

I chose a small box, and still in an almost trance, pushed Chris back down, firmly. I moved the tray of papers out of the way so I could be close enough to do my work, and I told him, “Keep your shoulders from bunching. Keep the lines of your back supple for me. But don’t move unless you warn me that you have to.”

His head was turned to the right; frozen, he whispered his understanding of my instructions, and I deliberately put the box down next to his cheek. He would see each knife that I drew out, and what they looked like when I placed them back in the lid.

It took four knives. Human skin dulls blades quickly, and a rose is an intricate design. My hands were perfectly steady, they always were when I used the knives, and I saw clearly the design on the card he sent me, the way he had shyly courted me with the rose on my umbrella. Would the doctors puzzle over this mark? Undoubtedly. But young men were expected to do stupid things, like get themselves adorned to impress young women. More important to me was the way his breathing quickened when he saw the silver edges, the way he groaned when the first cut spread open on his back, the way he sighed with every turn of the small blade as I cut another thorn into the stem. I breathed in his pain and delight until the design was complete, and stood back to watch the red trickles down his side and across the back of his throat. It had spilled onto my blotter, which did its job admirably, spreading the stain all around Chris’s face. And it had dripped a little beyond it as well. The blood would stain my desk a little. I liked that idea.

“It’s very becoming,” I said out loud. The first words in the room since he had acknowledged his instructions.

“Thank you, Trainer,” he whispered hoarsely.

He thanked me again after the alcohol. And again after the ink, although by then, they were thanks mingled with tears. I bandaged the mark myself and I stepped back to watch him dress, watching him wince as the cuts crinkled when he flexed his shoulder. His own blood stained his face and his neck, there was even some in his hair.

It had tasted sweet.

I let him go then, knowing that he would never doubt he had a place to come back to. No matter how lonely or frustrated or angry he got, no matter how far he let himself sink into despair—he had something of me that very few in this world did. I had let him feel my passion. He was mine now, for as long as I wished. In time, I too would read him like a clock.

A good dozen trainers had already left before dinner, a mixed, casual affair with no set hosts and no scheduled entertainment. The last night of the Academy was set aside for parties and final meetings and one last opportunity to make connections. Chris and Ron were not the only ones to dress up, although the formally dressed contingent was definitely in the minority. Some fetish-wear made it into the room as well, although it was limited to a corset here and there and a pair of leather shorts or a skirt or two. The slaves were apparently in whatever they tended to wear at home, outfits ranging from nothing at all to full serving uniforms to the stylized brief bands of silk favored at auction houses and other display areas. Their motley appearance suited the dinner nicely, and at last, their owners’—and trainers’—names were appended to their collars, so that they could be honored.

Anderson came late, in a long black dress, with Tetsuo as her companion. They sat at a table with the other Academy gods, Ninon and Kurgan, Corinne, Arturo and the rest. Michael and Ron stayed with Chris, and ended up near Anderson’s table, along with Marcy and Stuart.

At the end of dinner, as fruit and ices were being distributed, William Longet, elegant in a tailed coat and cravat, got up to make his announcements. Shushes followed his polite cough into the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Academy, I have a few thanks to offer and decisions to report, with your kind permission.”

He was met with sustained applause, and he smiled briefly and slipped reading glasses onto his nose, peering down at the sheets in front of him. “All of the members of the Academy extend their profound thanks for the consideration and generosity of the Okinawa Guild of trainers, the greater Japan Guilds, and the Shimada family, for a splendid example of hospitality...”

He went down the list, thanking all the trainers who sponsored and arranged for the slave staff, the supervisors, the entertainment, the chefs—everyone who could possibly be thanked. Applause was genuine, and there was much back slapping and hand shaking among the tables.

“I would also like to announce that next year’s Academy will be held in the country of Canada, in the province of...British Columbia. Our host, in addition to the Canadian trainers and spotters, is the Rysbeck Corporation, owners of the Lion’s Mane Resort.”

“Woo-hoo!” crowed Stuart, who immediately blushed as the people around him laughed.

“Finally, an Academy that won’t cost an arm and a leg to get to,” sighed Marcy. But she was obviously pleased that her northern neighbors got the honor, and Michael could see the Canadian table all grinning and acknowledging more applause.

“And finally, I would like to announce the results of our afternoon vote,” William said, after people settled down.

“As if we don’t know,” cried Tucker, and several people laughed. William Longet didn’t. He took this part of his job very seriously, and only raised an eyebrow in Tucker’s direction as he broke the seal on the envelope.

“In the question of the Parker proposal, forming a voluntary association of trainers which shall be duly recorded and supported by the Marketplace, membership to be decided within that association, with no penalties nor rewards for membership. Proposed: That the International Corporation of Trainers and Handlers permit to be created a volunteer association of training, including a certification process for accrediting new trainers within it, entering membership in said association as part of the available records maintained by the organization.

“The vote is...in favor of the proposition, by a four-fifths majority.”

Cheers came up, and more applause, this time accompanied by foot stamping, and both Marcy and Ron leaned over to slap Chris on the back. He smiled thinly, embarrassed by the attention, and stood reluctantly, when he heard his name chanted by a table led by Tucker. He bowed slightly to the group, nodded, and sat down again, blushing.

When the applause ran out, William Longet gathered his papers and said, “I thank you for your kind attention this year, and ask you to welcome Herr Walther Kurgan for this year’s specialty awards.”

There was laughter as Walther got up and strode to the podium. He was one of the people there ready for play—he was wearing leather jeans and a vest, his bare chest broad and firm. But it wasn’t his appearance that was amusing, that was just Walther. It was the awards he was about to bestow.

“Friends and not friends,” he said genially, to more laughter. “Once again, we have been gifted with a fine week of pleasure and politics—teaching and fucking. And once again, we have noticed the rare few among us who deserve our attention for service to the Academy above the call of duty! or well below! For example—our role model in timeliness, the great trainer of trainers, Anderson!” The room rocked in laughter as he continued, “She has shown me the valuable lesson this year that when one arrives late to a party, one may arrive very, very late!”

He went on, singling out Ninon as the best dressed trainer and the Canadians as the group most likely to use flea collars on their slaves. He awarded Michael the “most admired by men, women, and sled dogs” certificate, and in fact had one of the Canadian slaves deliver it to him in her teeth, which made him freeze in embarrassment before Ron slapped him on the back and he finally exploded in laughter. It had been a while since someone had complimented him so publicly.

Finally, after complimenting or embarrassing about a dozen trainers, he held one last sheet of paper and said, “And what would this week have been, if not for the honorable opposition, eh? For Best Loser, the award goes to Mr. Geoff Negel, from California, America!” He laughed so had he almost doubled over, and Geoff got up to bow to the laughter and applause of his peers, a rueful smile on his face. When Walther got control of himself, he wiped the tears from his eyes, and said, “So remember, all of you—you cannot escape the eyes of the special awards committee—we shall see you in Canada next year!” People threw balled up napkins at him as he made his way back to his table, still laughing. But when Anderson rose and approached the podium, silence swept the room.

She and Walther were of a similar height. The microphone was right where it should be, she gripped the sides of the podium for a second, and then spoke.

“My friends,” she said. “My apologies for my lateness and my thanks for this award, which I have already stopped treasuring.” She smiled, and they laughed. “I come before you this evening, in our tradition, as a master trainer, and I beg your indulgence. It has been some time since I addressed this body, and I shall be brief.

“It should come to no one’s surprise that I supported the proposal placed before this body. I am also pleased to announce that I supported the amended version, and am gratified that my peers see both the value in the new association and the value in keeping peace among ourselves. But what pleases me best is that this was accomplished without my presence, and with the leadership of my favored pupil, the trainer Chris Parker.”

Chris froze as Ron and Michael grinned on either side of him. Some scattered applause began, but Anderson raised one hand and stilled it.

“It has been a singular pleasure to train Mr. Parker, and to see him grown as an independent trainer. I am sure many of you have studied his writings, whether they were combined with my own or the few times he has been allowed himself the credit. I certainly, have learned much. But his modesty aside, I can honestly say that there are few trainers with his love—no, his passion—for the Marketplace and the purposes we serve.

“It is a hard thing, to train a trainer, as many of you well know. But every year spent in this task is well rewarded on a day like this, when I can announce to all of you present that I wish to bestow upon Chris Parker the title of Master Trainer, and I ask for your approval.”

The applause and chanting and cheers became an astounding roar, and as a body, the room rose, and Chris swallowed hard. The bruise against his lip was obvious now, and so were two dark red ones on his cheekbones, heightened by the blush that crept up from his collar.

“Get up,” Ron said in his ear. “Give ’em a wave, who knows when the fuck you’ll see ’em again?”

He stood, bowed again, this time first to Anderson, who was applauding with a look of mild amusement in her eyes, and then to the rest of the room. There were no more announcements, no more speeches. People came over to congratulate him on receiving the new title, a few asked him if he was considering starting his own house. Knots of friends began to form as the private parties were to begin soon, and Michael remembered that he had never even asked Chris if he could attend one.